


Scumbag Gate II: Bloodletting (Prelude)

by ddtiel



Series: Scumbag Gate II [2]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Baldur's Gate 2/ToB spoilers, Charname is still a huge douchebag, M/M, Married Couple, Scheming, Shaky beginnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 23:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15545121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddtiel/pseuds/ddtiel
Summary: The battle is won.The Bhaalspawn War is over.But what of the prize?The conclusion of Anqi's grand adventure has left his party members perplexed, and they sure as all Hells aren't going to sit quietly about it.





	Scumbag Gate II: Bloodletting (Prelude)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the one-shot before the true (and much more substantial) sequel. This might end up being absorbed into it, but I really wanted to post it earlier, so forgive this lack of discipline on my part ;p
> 
> Not a lot more to say about it other than it assumes you've played through, or at least have knowledge of the events of BG2 and Throne of Bhaal. 
> 
> All potential mistakes are my own (and Grammarly's), sorry in advance. Hope you enjoy!

When the first spectral tendril tore at his soul, Anqi cried out with joy.

“You have chosen well, god-child,” said the angelic solar, who was overlooking the process of purifying him of his father’s evil taint. Her cool and detached voice reverberated inside Anqi’s head, adding to the immense pressure his body was forced to endure being split apart from the inside. She floated above him, radiant. The warm glow emanating from her ethereal body overpowered the sickly green light that was churning within the Throne of Bhaal, causing the wisps of energy being sucked out of him to seem less ghastly, and his dark olive skin less ghoulish. “You will experience great discomfort, but it will last only a few moments until you are purged of all of your sire’s power.”

“You don’t say,” Anqi gasped and gritted his teeth. He never knew celestial beings were fond of japes. There was nothing funny about his situation, however, as the air in his lungs turned dry and metallic and cold. His vision blurred and he fell, the skeletal platform suspended in the inky vastness of the Pocket Plane rushing right at him. He would have cracked his head open if it weren't for the vice-like grip of his companion. Dorn Il-Khan supported the half-elf’s weight with ease, his steel gauntlet digging protectively into his side as he lowered him to the ground.

“Anqi!” the fallen blackguard hissed, his rumbling voice barely audible above the thrum of the energy swirling around the Throne. “You have the power of a god at your fingertips and you do not take it?”

Anqi could sense the confusion in his partner, but words failed to leave his mouth; it was becoming too hard to even breathe, as sudden pangs of pain all over his body made him writhe in the rigid embrace.

“What is the meaning of this, witch? What are you doing to him?” Dorn roared at the solar. Out of the corner of his eye, Anqi could see him baring his overgrown tusks at her, his coal-black eyes murderous, his dark tresses tangled, and the blood of his fallen enemies spattered across his pale purple face; it was a good look on him.

“All is according to Lord Ao’s design: the god-child has made his choice and this is what it entails,” the solar replied, her dispassionate voice echoing in the darkness.

“To all Hells with your god’s plan—if this is hurting him, I swear you won’t leave this place with your head attached to your shoulders, planar!”

Anqi grabbed for Dorn’s arm—there was no point getting upset over his momentary dizziness—but he realised he could no longer lift even a finger. The pull at his soul was just a caress by now, but the entire ordeal had drained him of all his energy. Disregarding the threat, the solar continued to watch the remainder of the taint enter the corpse of the priestess Amelyssan, who had died fighting Anqi over this same power and thus the right to become the new God of Murder. Within her broken body, it would be sealed forever. The exhausted rogue would have burst out laughing at the irony, but his face hurt too much. “You may calm yourself, wild one. Your comrade’s soul is now purified but his body will need time to adjust to the burden—possessing Bhaal’s power had not been without its benefits,” the solar announced, smiling at him and Dorn.

Anqi managed to snort; the vile presence of the Slayer, the nightmarish avatar of his late father which had been haunting his dreams for months, was hardly among those benefits. If he was going to be able to get a good night’s rest without seeing the monster bathed in the blood of comrades and strangers alike, then being a little tired was more than worth it. Still, the loss of energy had come as a surprise, and one he did not appreciate in his current, already exhausted state. He did just take part in the greatest battle of his life after all! “If you had warned me the change would be this sudden before draining the life out of me, I’d have at least sat down and saved myself the embarrassment of falling over like a helpless babe.” Anqi tried to grin, but that also became too much of a strain. “Mind sparing a healing spell or two, Viconia?”

“Aim your whip elsewhere—I’ve nothing left to give you at this time but scorn, and even that would be too bothersome,” said the dark elf cleric who limped up to the corpse of their enemy and spat at it. She then twirled, revealing a sneer marring her sultry face. Her ebony skin was splattered with the gore of one of the pit-fiends summoned by Amelyssan, and so was her hair, its tresses a mess of red and white tangles. Her gilded chainmail fared no better, having been ripped over her thigh by the demon’s massive claws, but that didn’t make the sight of her any less pleasant. Despite her having little more than vitriol for him, Anqi was glad Viconia DeVir had survived the battle.

“Scorn is the least he deserves! Look at the state of my robes!” Edwin Odesseiron moaned from somewhere nearby. Anqi couldn’t hear what the Red Wizard added under his breath, as was his custom, but knowing the man, it was something about apes and humiliation. None of them would have wept if Edwin had fallen, but it seemed his fate was to continue being insufferable for some time longer. There was another person who had not yet addressed his decision, however, and whose hatred was as tangible as Dorn’s grip around his side. Sarevok pushed past Viconia and glared down at him, before turning to the solar, his imposing height almost matching that of the otherworldly emissary.

“The fool has made his choice, yes, but is all this power of Bhaal that I had died seeking meant to go to waste?” the bald-headed warrior motioned to Amelyssan and the pulsating green glow coming from her corpse. “Let the whimpering fool become nothing more than a shell of his former self, but allow me to inherit our father’s legacy! It’s too great to just throw away!”

“Bhaal’s power shall be removed from this plane and taken far beyond the reach of mortals so that it can never stain another soul. That is the will of Lord Ao.”

Sarevok snapped his head back to Anqi, death in his glowing yellow eyes. “Is this what all our struggles have led up to? For you to squander your only chance at greatness? And for what!? For… for this?” He motioned towards Dorn, his distaste clear in his sneer. The half-orc’s body tensed and a growl rumbled in his chest, but Sarevok raged on, unconcerned: “No, I will not allow this to happen. I will take this power, whether you like it or not.” He took a step towards Amelyssan, but the platform shook and sent him and all others but the solar to their knees.

“What devilry is this now!?” Edwin demanded, crawling towards Viconia.

“The time of this plane is at its end,” the solar explained. At her feet, the corpse of their fallen enemy shuddered and was lifted towards the heart of the Throne by the green tendrils, and then engulfed.

“No!” Sarevok cried reaching after it, but the floor where he stood chipped, and the bone-like chunks began flying towards the whirlpool of energy at the heart of the plane. He skipped back, but the platform began to break, each crack accompanied by a noise as loud as thunder. “No, it cannot end like this!”

“It can and it shall,” the angelic emissary announced. She spread her wings and enveloped the five of them in a dazzling, warm light. Anqi thought he saw Sarevok darting towards the solar, but his half-brother’s silhouette dissolved into a blinding whiteness. For a long moment the only thing he was aware of, the only thing that grounded him in reality, was the dull ache from the steel-clad fingers digging into his flesh. Then it was gone as suddenly as was the light, and his back slammed into a rocky dune. He gasped in pain, and almost choked on a fistful of sand. He spat it out with all the might he could muster, which wasn’t nearly enough, resulting in sandy spittle dribbling down the side of his chin. From somewhere nearby came the clang of Dorn’s armour, reassuring him that wherever the solar had transported them, at least they were together. He crawled towards him, anxious about how helpless and pathetic he looked in front of his partner, but there was nothing he could do but grit his teeth and endure the humiliation.

“It is done,” the solar announced. His arms shaking, Anqi pushed himself up to see her with her wings still spread and floating among his scattered friends, who were absorbing their surroundings with confusion similar to his. As they got to their feet, the angelic being’s body turned to pure light and when she spoke again, her voice resounded in his head like a grand bell, yet was as soothing as a woodland brook. “I will leave you now, so that you may live out your life as you see fit. Fare thee well, god-child. We shall never see each other again.” A sudden relief came with her parting words as the blinding light gave way to gentle purple and pink clouds and the pleasant dimness of encroaching twilight. A soft breeze brushed against Anqi’s face, cold on his clammy skin, while the last rays of the red sun were disappearing behind a sandy-coloured mountain range. The distant rock formation was not dissimilar to the one surrounding Amkethran, but he could have been mistaken; he had not been in the Calim Desert long enough to tell the secret structure from a natural element of the landscape. All he did know was that heading towards the enclave of Balthazar, the half-brother he had slain for Amelyssan before she’d revealed her traitorous scheme, was the last thing they should do. The opposite path, however, was nothing but dunes, each one larger than the one before and similarly unappealing.

“She couldn’t have taken us someplace civilised, could she? Or even tell us where we are,” Viconia huffed in indignation, brushing her hair with her fingers with quick and violent strokes. “Some thanks for doing the gods a service.”

“Yes, this is most upsetting,” added Edwin, who was emptying his satchel of various scrolls and potions to then upturn it to spill out a few handfuls of sand. “Let us hope our leader, at least, shows us more gratitude for putting up with this ridiculousness. I did not demean myself by joining this troupe of circus monkeys to come out empty-handed.”

“Don’t worry, Edwin. There’s plenty of spoils to share,” Anqi said with a sigh, managing to climb to his feet. His strength was slowly returning, but it still wasn’t enough to keep his balance; his knees buckled and he stumbled sideways onto the dune. He cursed and tried again, pretending not to see Dorn’s disconcerted frown. Relatively stable, he brushed sand off his enchanted leather jerkin and took a long, deep breath of the rapidly cooling desert air. His respite, however, was short-lived.

“‘Spoils’!? Do you think we can be bought with your baubles and gold!?” bellowed Sarevok, advancing towards Anqi, his greatsword still in its sheath. “We’ve come so close to death in the quest to give you the chance to become a god, but you’ve thrown it in our faces! And what now? Are you going to just prance amongst the flowers, happy to be mortal?”

Anqi slipped his hands onto the grips of his swords and stood his ground. To his side, Dorn took a step to meet the angered warrior but halted seeing the half-elf shake his head. “If I please, I’ll prance my mortal heart out on the first meadow I find and love it,” the rogue said with a cocky smile. “I didn’t force you to join me, nor did I promise you anything but freedom, thus I expect the same from you. And if the treasures we’ve found along the way are beneath you, I’m sure the others will be more than glad to split your share.”

Sarevok stopped in his tracks a few paces away, a look of pure rage on his face. “Do you think me a naive imbecile that I’ll believe that’s what your companions think? You, drow and you, mage; don’t you feel cheated like I do?” Viconia lifted a brow, while Edwin threw him a furtive glance and mumbled, while still rummaging through his belongings. Sarevok snorted with derision then turned to Dorn. “What about you, half-orc? Hasn’t my dear brother promised you a share of his godly powers? You must feel like a right fool, even more than I do, placing all your faith in the wrong Bhaalspawn.”

“Do not lump me together with you, shade,” Dorn rebuffed him. Anqi exhaled with quiet relief, but the look of fleeting doubt his partner gave him made his blood turn cold. Still, his closest companion placed himself between him and his half-brother, his broad back like a sturdy wall protecting Anqi from his detractor. “Me and him”—Dorn continued—”will discuss our affairs in private, so speak of it no more or be ready to taste my steel.”

“Yes, please, do not prolong this petty fight any longer. There are more immediate matters to attend to, like finding our way out of this wretched wasteland,” Viconia said, rolling her eyes at Sarevok. “Foolish or not, Anqi has made his choice and there is little point in wallowing in regrets now.”

“Well, the brute does have a point,” Edwin began, but Sarevok was no longer listening.

“You’re all mewling puppets, and Anqi will pay for his lies whether you stand with me or not,” the bald warrior roared, then reached for his sword faster than the exhausted half-elf could react to. Anqi yanked at the grips of his weapons, but it was too late; Sarevok’s fearsome blade flashed in an overhead arc, rushing to cleave him in half. But before the killing blow landed, his partner elbowed him squarely in the stomach, shoving him to safety. His own Abyssal Blade met Sarevok’s Sword of Grief in a burst of hellfire and sparks. Dorn pushed his opponent back with a swipe and took a stance that usually foreshadowed a swift end to his enemies.

“You’ve just made your last mistake, filth,” he growled.

“No, it is you who are mistaken,” Sarevok argued, shifting his sword to defend himself from the looming attack. He backed away in an arc to keep everyone in his sight, but Viconia and Edwin wanted nothing to do with their quarrel and retreated a few paces to watch the conflict unfold. Sarevok spat in disgust but pressed on. “Look at you, the lone, faithful champion, so eager to prostrate yourself beneath my brother’s feet. Weren’t you the one hoping to slay the innocents in his name? To worship him with the blood you’d spill? What have you got, now that he’s thrown all that power away? What has he got to give you in its place? Nothing!”

Bile rose in Anqi’s throat as a shiver racked through his body, but it had nothing to do with the earlier strike to his gut. What Sarevok said was true, and it sank heavy and cold in the pit of his stomach. If Dorn were to turn on him… The thought was enough to make him vomit, yet only spit and sand came out. He wiped his mouth and tried to return his attention to the fight, but the figures in front of him were beginning to blur. For now, his partner had his back to him, and that meant there was still a chance to get out of this predicament alive. As long as Sarevok remained alone in the conflict, Anqi didn’t think he could take the two of them on. Still, the look Dorn had given him was troubling. If he didn’t come up with a way to reassure his partner that his faith had not been wholly misplaced, he could find himself at the sharp end of his sword. Perhaps even the sacred orcish vows Dorn had insisted upon would not be enough to keep him safe from his wrath. He glanced to his left palm, where the hastily wrapped ceremonial wound was starting to bleed through the linen and wondered what the blood oath they had taken before confronting Amelyssan was worth. Dorn had seemed serious about it, so maybe Anqi could trust him to uphold the marriage-like vow, no matter what his true feelings on the loss of the Bhaalspawn power were. With the way he threw himself at his half-brother, the rogue was starting to see hope in this reasoning.

“Heed my words, half-orc: we should be joining our swords against my brother to punish him for this betrayal, not fighting each other,” Sarevok insisted through clenched teeth.

“I’d sooner sell my soul to another demon than join the likes of you. You were lucky to be given a second chance to exist. Now your new life is forfeit and I’ll enjoy seeing you give up your ghost, this time for good.” Sparing no time to allow Sarevok another comeback, Dorn lunged at his opponent, his blade nicking his side before the other could jump away. The bald warrior grunted as the demonic fire seared through his plate armour. He raised his sword in a furious attempt to return the strike, but all he could manage was to deflect Dorn’s next attack. Sparks flew and the clanging of metal rang in a deadly chant accompanied by the hellish wails of the two demons bound to the Abyssal Blade, as the two burly fighters circled each other, jabbing, parrying and dodging with speed and precision too hard to follow for any amateur. Even Anqi, who prided himself on being a proficient sword-wielder, could barely keep up with the exchanges, and it was only partly due to feeling faint. The truth was that if Dorn had not stepped in, he would be nothing more than a bloodstain on the sand right now. But his partner _did_ come to his aid and was now clashing his blade with one of the most fearsome and destructive warriors Anqi had ever come across. Even as a shade, Sarevok’s power and skill were unquestionable. Facing a formidable opponent like Dorn made him swing and slash with greater ferocity than ever before—greater than the half-orc had anticipated because, suddenly, Dorn was on the defensive. The bald warrior parried his downswing and sent his black blade sliding down his own sword, sidestepping his opponent in the process. Using the half-orc’s momentary imbalance, he executed a lightning fast arcing slice, aiming to decapitate Dorn in one smooth motion.

Anqi held his breath.

Thanks to the instinct honed through countless battles, his partner sensed the blade coming. At the last instant, he threw himself sideways, snapping his head away enough to keep it, but not enough to avoid the attack. A spray of blood spurted out of his forehead, but Dorn disregarded the wound and, twisting with the momentum, sent his falling sword back in a rising slice. Were it not for the magical wards on his armour the counter would have taken Sarevok’s arm off. Instead, the colossal blow obliterated his grip, sending his sword flying out of his hand, and knocking the man defenceless on the sand. Eager to finish it, the half-orc advanced with his weapon raised.

“Wait! Don’t kill him!” Anqi found the last of his energy to cry out. Dorn froze on his command, still looming over his enemy. _Who says I’ve lost all the power_ , Anqi thought without humour and bit on his sweat-soaked sleeve, ripping it in half. Battling another wave of nausea, he climbed to his feet and stumbled towards his bleeding partner, unburdened by any assistance from his other two companions. He grabbed his protector’s belt for balance and pressed the scrap of fabric to the gash over his right eye. Dorn clicked his tongue and snatched it away to tend to the wound on his own, while Anqi looked down on his half-brother’s snarling face. The scene mirrored the events of almost two years ago when he plunged his sword into the man’s heart, and the memory kindled the urge to finish him off once more. He had been so angry back then, enraged by the still fresh revelation of his godly heritage and spurred on by the taint of his father to spill more blood. It seemed that along with Bhaal’s dubious blessings, the solar had freed him from the taste for fratricide, and he could muster nothing more than fatigued disinterest in his half-brother.

“Is this really the time for your blasted altruism? He doesn’t deserve mercy,” Dorn snapped, never looking away from his fallen adversary. Anqi could taste his bloodlust, and a part of him wanted to let his partner claim the kill he’d earned. But inside the defeated man was a fragment of his soul, and when Anqi had bestowed it upon his half-brother, he had promised himself to let Sarevok live out his second life after their adventure was over; it was the only way he could think of to pay off his debt.

“Maybe not,” Anqi agreed. “But he doesn’t deserve to be killed by you, not here and now.” If looks could kill, Sarevok would have made him drop dead there and then. Instead, he crawled away from the point of the Abyssal Blade. Hastily dusting himself off as he rose, he stalked to retrieve his sword. Dorn started at that, but Anqi tugged at his belt. “He’s won his blade with his service.” Dorn grunted in reply but didn’t lower his sword. Sarevok picked up his, then looked at them with contempt, his eyes glowing like embers inside a skull.

“You bring shame to the symbol of Bhaal you wear on your skin. Pray it doesn’t bring your misfortune for tainting his name, because if we ever meet again, be assured that I will.”

“If you want to spend your life making empty threats then be my guest, but best make them elsewhere. I won’t stop Dorn from gutting you again,” Anqi snapped at him. His fingers brushed against the skull tattoo above his left temple unwittingly before he recoiled and lowered his hand.

Sarevok snarled and spat his way, and then sheathed his sword and sauntered towards the distant mountain range.

“And good riddance to you too,” Anqi murmured. He stepped away from Dorn to give him room to put away his weapon, swaying on unsteady legs. The sun was all but gone beyond the horizon, and dusk had settled over the desert. The first stars glimmered in the inky sky, but thanks to his elven blood he could see the silhouette of his former companion disappear over the dunes. A chill crept up his spine. It was time to set out as well.

“Too soft on your enemies, as always,” Edwin was eager to pass his judgement now that the threat was gone. “You should have let the half-orc skewer him and leave him for the vultures. Who knows what further schemes he might cook up for us.” Viconia and Dorn both turned to glare at the Red Wizard.

“I recall you agreeing with him,” the drow scoffed. “A foolish notion, as always, but for once it’s good to see how reluctant you are to follow through with what idiocy you spout. It would have been most displeasing if you had prolonged this pointless fight by slugging fireballs, or whatever that nasty mind of yours was able to cook up.”

“Your harsh judgement is misplaced, Viconia. I was simply trying to give him a false sense of hope, you see, unbalance him emotionally by pretending to be on his side. It’s common knowledge impetuous brutes are easy to manipulate in such a way,” Edwin explained. “No offence, of course, to our good champion. You did well showing that miscreant his place, which is as far from us as possible. Honestly, it took you long enough to cast him out, I was beginning to think you were forming a sort of barbaric bond with that undead thing.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll carve your tongue out and leave _that_ for the vultures,” Dorn spat, the rush from the battle slow to leave him. The Red Wizard snorted, but stepped towards Viconia, placing her between himself and the warrior, muttering under his breath all the while.

“And here I thought ridding ourselves of one male would improve the group’s rapport,” the dark elf sighed, then turned to Anqi. “Well then, what is our plan? Do you have a destination in mind, or are we to make camp?”

“According to the stars, if we head south and follow the coast, we should come upon Calimport sooner or later,” the half-elf said as he studied the sky. The constellations were in the same positions as before they had left the material plane to wage battle for the Throne of Bhaal, so it was enough to convince him the solar had not cast them out in some wasteland on the other side of the world at least.

“That might be days away,” protested Viconia. “I will require at least a moment of rest before we attempt such a journey.”

“No, we shouldn’t waste more time dallying; Amkethran might be beyond those mountains, and if Sarevok were to reveal our presence to anyone, we might find ourselves pursued by overzealous monks seeking revenge for Balthazar. Not to mention the soldiers and bounty hunters from Tethyr; I have strong doubts they would have given up the hunt for the Bhaalspawn War criminals already.”

“All very good reasons why you shouldn’t have stopped me from slaying the dog,” Dorn complained. Anqi was about to make an excuse, but the strong arm of his partner slipped behind his back and yanked him up. “Still, if we are to reach our destination, I agree with not delaying any further. We should travel by night and make camp at daybreak; I, for one, do not intend to cook in my armour.”

That seemed to satisfy both Viconia and Edwin, and the four-man party started their trek south, with the dark elf taking point. The mage trailed close behind her, keen to hold a conversation, which she was trying to avoid with equal eagerness. A dozen paces behind, Dorn was dragging Anqi along, whose recovering strength was depleting with every unsure step on the sand. Even worse than the snail’s pace was the silence that hung over them like an executioner’s axe, along with the tightness around the corners of Dorn’s mouth and the way he kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. With every moment Anqi had to endure the silent treatment, as well as the guilt that gnawed at him from within, nausea he could barely keep at bay and the stinging of the new flesh wounds sustained in the earlier battle, Anqi felt like he was about to go insane.

“Thank you,” he finally said, unable to come up with anything safer, paranoid about what might set off his partner.

“Be specific,” Dorn demanded, still refusing to meet his gaze. “For helping you walk as if you were a cripple, or cutting down the bitch, Amelyssan, and her demon horde?” Anqi swallowed hard.

“For everything, really, and that with Sarevok, of course.” Dorn hummed. The half-elf licked his lip, then lifted his left hand to his face. The linen was now dripping red, but he snatched it with his teeth and pulled, tearing the damp cloth and letting it fall to the sand. There was a pronounced cut running diagonally from the base of his forefinger to the bottom of the palm. Blood was seeping from it into the cotton of his sleeve and spilling over the leather of his gauntlet. It hurt. Anqi wondered if Dorn’s cut fared any better. During the ritual when he swiped the blade over his partner’s hand, he tried not to cause too much damage but made it deep enough so that he knew Anqi meant it. Because he did, didn’t he? He hoped Dorn believed it, but he needed to make sure. He swallowed again. “You’re pretty calm about all this, considering, well, everything you’ve ever said about my powers. Back there, I thought for a moment that you might side with my half-brother.”

The arm holding him up disappeared without warning, and Anqi went to one knee to keep himself from falling altogether. Danger flashed in Dorn’s eyes, and when his partner saw the cut on his hand, he snarled at him like a beast. “If you had thought that even for a moment, then you might be as great a fool as that wretched cur said you were! This”—he caught Anqi by the wrist of his left hand—”this means something, so you better get it through that thick skull of yours, before you let something we both will regret spill from betwixt your lips.”

Dorn dropped his arm and turned away, catching up to the other two in a matter of seconds, then pushed past them, leaving them perplexed. Viconia called after him, to no avail, then made her way back to Anqi. Before he could find anything witty to say, she pulled him up by his arm. When she noticed the blood dripping down his fingers, she muttered a curse in her native tongue, then chanted the words of the weakest of healing spells in her arsenal. The wound closed a second later. “Thank you,” Anqi murmured, then began walking with her still holding him by the arm.

It took all of his remaining strength to keep himself upright; he was tired, but the loss of balance he felt when Dorn let him go unnerved him much more. Had the purging of Bhaal’s essence taken away some of the power he had thought as his own? The loss of agility and the way his muscles were straining and his body experiencing the cold wind like never before all seemed to point to that conclusion. Could this be what being mortal felt like? This weakness and frailty—was this the cost of freedom?

“The solar never warned me I’d be this...”

“Pathetic? It doesn’t surprise me in the least—you are but a male, after all, despite your compulsions,” Viconia interjected without scruples. Anqi couldn’t help but smile—never doubt a drow to kick you when you were down.

“I suppose you’re just as disgusted as Dorn.”

She regarded him with a long-suffering stare, before clicking her tongue. “We both know you care little about my opinion, _abbil_ ; after all, I am not the one to whom you’ve promised the moon and the stars.”

“He is an insistent man.” Anqi shrugged. Viconia’s answer was an exasperated huff, but a tiny smile hid in the corner of her perfect if a bit smudged lips.

“So, did you ever mean what you promised him?” she asked. He had to think; did he? Hearing Dorn go on about reaching new heights and spreading chaos and bloodshed together had given him fleeting ideas of what it might be, were he to become the new God of Murder, but no matter his partner's excitement about the prospect, they’d never taken root. He hung his head in shame. “Well, _abbil_ , you have most certainly made a bed of thorns for yourself. I almost feel sorry for you, but it’s safe to say I won’t be there to see you sleep in it. Once we’ve reached civilisation, be it Calimport or another _rivvin_ -infested city, and I’ve received my promised share, I will be leaving you and your… beloved behind. The red fool as well; I will be glad to never have him speak to me again.”

“That is a sentiment we both share,” Anqi said and smiled, hoping his face didn’t betray his true feelings; the day had already been a disaster for his reputation, and he didn’t need Viconia, of all people, to see through him and make him feel even worse. Her decision stung, but it was for the best; if the worst came to pass, she would have no reason to stand between him and Dorn’s wrath anyway.

“Then again”—she added in a lighter tone—“you did manage to tame him somewhat; perhaps there is hope for you if you play your hand right. It’s hard to foresee you succeeding after the way he stormed off, but he hasn’t left us yet, and we’ve both witnessed queerer things on our journey.”

It was the ‘somewhat’ that Anqi found most dubious; the wrist where Dorn had grabbed him ached enough to make him doubt his chances of pacifying his partner’s rage. Yet the longer he waited, the larger a shadow of suspicion he cast on himself. Perhaps it was too soon to rub salt into the wound, but a further delay would not change that it would still be there, festering between them. Besides, Viconia was right; if Dorn was only interested in Bhaal’s power, he could have departed right after Sarevok. Then there was him getting so angry about the scar… Well, that was just the opening Anqi needed.

He placed his hand over Viconia’s. She gave him a sceptical look but let go and allowed him to begin a clumsy power walk after his partner.

The climb up and down the two dunes separating them was an arduous task, and twice he felt all strength leave him, but he kept pushing until he got close enough to call out to the half-orc. Dorn pretended not to hear him, but Anqi knew he did from the falter in his step. That was enough to motivate him. And after what felt like an eternity, he finally caught up to his partner.

“I thought you were too weak to even walk by yourself,” grumbled Dorn, never slowing his pace.

Sweating like a heretic in a temple, his body aching and shivering from the cold, Anqi gasped for air before he could answer through chattering teeth. “I can be a stubborn bastard when something I want is right in front of me.”

Dorn regarded him with annoyance, which was a step up from the last murderous look he’d given him. “And what do you want?”

It was Anqi’s turn to capture his wrist. When Dorn stopped and glowered at him, he took a steadying breath. His vision swam, but he blinked the dizziness away. “I want you to know how sorry I am that I failed to give you what you wanted, but I promise you this; I will make it up to you or bleed out trying.” The grim-faced warrior growled in reply and made to move away, but Anqi yanked him back and made him look at his upturned left hand; the blood on his skin was starting to turn to a darker shade and flake, but the scar was plain to see. “I do understand what this means and I know how much it matters to you. It matters to me too, that’s why when the solar told me to choose between leaving this plane forever to become a god and staying where I was, there was only one thing I could do. Only one, Dorn.” The stinging in his palm made him clench his teeth, but he wasn’t done just yet. “I couldn’t go because of this.”

A mix of emotions flashed on his partner’s face ranging from disgust, rage, confusion and shame. “You don’t mean to say… No, I’ve told you not to let your emotions sway you! This…” Dorn took a hold of his shoulders and shook him. The motion was tender, but Anqi’s head spun, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid vertigo. Dorn interpreted the act in a different manner and cradled his face. The cold of the steel gauntlets numbed his skin. “Do not think I don’t value your loyalty, but Anqi, you complete fool, you could have been a god!”

He smiled and cracked his eyes open to see the effect his words had on his partner and felt only a little disgusted with himself. The man who had professed his love for him was crushed, and it was all his doing. He reached out to touch Dorn's strong jaw, a day old stubble rough under his fingertips. “I’d be a greater fool still to have left your side, I think.”

There was something more he wanted to say but his legs had finally given out and his vision failed, and he went limp in his partner’s embrace. As his consciousness started to slip to the distant sound of his beloved calling out his name, the pain in his hand grew sharper.

If only he had asked Dorn not to cut so deeply it wouldn’t have to hurt so much, he chided himself in vain. But in truth, he knew that even the shallowest slice would’ve split his heart open just the same and, just like now, there would be no way to fix it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you'd like to share your reaction to this turn of events, whether you liked or hated it!  
> I'm curious to hear how your finale went and what you thought about Dorn's *coughpieceofshitcough* epilogue.


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